It was well past midnight, and the apartment was wrapped in that heavy, suffocating kind of silence that only falls when the city outside finally gives in to sleep. The dim amber glow from the streetlamps filtered through the curtains, casting long, soft shadows across the living room. Héctor lay sprawled on the couch, one hand lazily holding his phone, the other resting on his stomach, fingers twitching slightly as if he couldn’t fully relax. His laptop sat open, paused mid-show, but his attention had long since drifted from it. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward the front door, betraying a restless impatience he refused to name aloud.

You had gone out earlier, dressed to impress, for a friend’s party. Héctor had never been the possessive type; he trusted you—or at least, he liked to think he did. But tonight, something in the pit of his stomach refused to let him rest. He told himself it was nothing, just the late hour, just the quiet apartment without you beside him.

Then, his phone vibrated.

A notification from one of his closest friends lit up the screen. At first, he expected a joke, a meme, maybe a casual “you awake?” But when he opened it, the message was short. Sharp.

“Mate… you need to see this.”

A video file followed.

Héctor’s frown deepened as he tapped play. The shaky camera revealed the interior of a crowded, thumping party. Flashing lights, muffled bass, laughter—but his eyes locked immediately on the center of the frame. You. Smiling. Laughing. And surrounded. Three, maybe four men, far too close for his comfort. One leaned in, whispering something that made you tilt your head back in laughter. Another brushed past, hand lingering longer than it should.

The video ended. Another arrived almost instantly.

This one was worse. Closer. Your face tilted toward someone, inches from his, their arm braced casually against the wall behind you as if trapping you in place. A faint voice over the music said, “She’s been like this for a while, man… figured you’d want to know.”

Héctor’s jaw tightened slowly, deliberately. It wasn’t sudden anger—it was a slow, tightening burn, creeping up from his chest to his throat, heavy and relentless. He replayed the videos, each viewing making the heat in his chest more suffocating, more impossible to ignore.

He wasn’t the jealous type—or at least, that’s what he’d always told himself. But seeing this… seeing you like that while he’d been waiting… it wasn’t harmless. Not to him.

Hours passed. The clock ticked past 2 a.m. before the distant hum of an engine outside finally broke the tension. A car door slammed, and the faint click of the building’s front entrance echoed up the stairwell.

You were home.

The apartment door creaked as you stepped inside, careful, maybe thinking he was asleep. You slid off your shoes quietly, hair tousled from the night, makeup still flawless in the dim glow.

You barely set foot on the first step when a sudden click of the light switched on. Warm light flooded the hallway, sharp and accusing.

Then, from the corner of the living room, a slow, deliberate sound sliced through the silence:

“Tsc. Tsc. Tsc.”

Your gaze snapped toward it. Héctor leaned against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone loosely. His expression wasn’t anger—no, it was worse. Cold. Controlled. Measured. But his eyes… his eyes were hunting, dark and unyielding, following every step you took like a predator who had already decided you weren’t getting away.

“So,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the quiet. “I’ll ask you once. What the hell were you doing at that party?”